


and why shouldn't i get to try?

by faithfullyfrances



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Gen, fred is a good listener, learning diy stuff, meaningful chats in fred's allotment, phyllis loves her spanish vocab, sister frances is so brave, sister frances talks about mechanics, sister julienne is understanding, the beginnings of a wholesome friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithfullyfrances/pseuds/faithfullyfrances
Summary: When the going gets tough, Nonnatuns hide in Fred Buckle's allotment.Here, Sister Frances finds the nerve to ask something that's been on her mind for a while. Brave and undeniably knowledgeable about Fred's latest discovery of buried treasure, she finds comfort in a forgotten hobby. Her past experiences bubbling to the surface as she seeks respite from the midweek blues.(or Sister Frances and Fred have a little natter about mechanics and other things in the garden space, keeping each other company, while she avoids Nurse Crane's frustration.)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. firstly.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this idea is inspired by the recent promo pictures, as well as the fact that sister frances canonically knows lots of cool stuff about cars :)

She really needed to get out of there before she started to cry.

Blinking a few times against the harsh lights of the clinical room, the young nun avoided eye contact with her superior colleagues.

“Right then Nurse Crane, I’ll just,” Sister Frances didn’t bother to finish her sentence. Electing instead to gesture vaguely at the doorway and rush past disapproving glances and frustrated sighs.

The senior nurse’s head followed her figure as it fled down the corridor, as though the front door was a gateway to some illusion of salvation. Almost owl like in the way that she craned (no pun intended) her neck.

There was a collective tensing of shoulders as the remaining occupiers of the clinical room heard the heavy wooden door thud, shut with as much delicacy as the young girl had been willing to offer. Tuts of annoyance came from the elder women. Valerie and Trixie just shared a knowing glance, before returning to packing their midwifery bags in silence.

Before leaving, Valerie turned to murmur something into Nurse Crane’s ear, taking care to keep her voice low.

“Make sure she’s alright, won’t you,” it was hardly a question. “If you’d’ve had a pop at me like that, then the door would be lucky to still be on its hinges. Only she’s too kind for that sort of thing, which you bleedin’ well know Phyllis.”

A lowered head said everything that words wouldn’t, and Valerie pulled Trixie along by the sleeve as they followed the Sister’s suit.

-  
-  
-

Over the years, many a midwife had sought solace amongst the seedlings in Fred Buckle’s allotment. A truth that was acknowledged all across the borough. 

However today’s solace seeker was a new one, their first exploration, first expedition into the neat rows of flowers and assorted vegetables.

The metal gate rattled shut as a small nun stumbled her way over the threshold, acknowledging a crouching Fred with an awkward smile and a half hearted attempt at a wave. There was a discreet wiping of tears, a slight sniffle.

She let out a breath, heavy and exhausted. It was only a quarter to nine, and already she had felt her grasp of the day slip through her fingers. One ‘ticking off’ too many, their total lack of confidence really wasn’t well hidden this early in the morning.

It was so draining, even if the continued criticisms were never made with a malicious intent. 

_‘We're just trying to help’_

Were they? 

In that moment she had to question it. 

And one of these days she really was going to take a cricket bat to that blasted autoclave.

-

“You alright Sister?” queried Fred, wiping the sweat from his brow with his overall sleeve. 

“Not especially Fred,” replied Sister Frances, leaning against the railings of the allotment. 

“Midweek blues is it?” A half hearted nod encouraged him to continue. “My Vi always says that a flick through Women's Realm cheers ‘er up, you know when she's feeling a bit blue.”

“Great thanks, just pop to the shop and buy a copy then shall I,” sarcasm dripped from her tongue. 

An uncommon tone, for the usually excruciatingly polite nun. In fact it was probably the first time that she'd let it slip out since coming to Nonnatus. A quick glance revealed Fred sitting statue still, clearly unsure of how to respond. 

“Sorry,” she broke the awkward silence, lightly kicking the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “Sorry Fred, I know you're only trying to help, it's just that magazine perusal isn't exactly a hobby of mine. Well I couldn't even if I wanted to.”

“S’alright. Daft suggestion really.”

“Not daft, just a little impractical,” she contended with a smile. 

She shuffled her feet a little, watching from the sidelines as the handyman continued faffing with whatever piece of equipment was currently in his grasp. He’d been clearing out his mysterious shed, the rusty padlock lying discarded on the edge of a neighbouring flowerbed. Maybe it was symbolic. The dull bronze attempting to make some sort of statement - as it cried out from between bright peonies, brave daffodils and towering sunflowers.

He had a heap of metallic odds and ends resting on the river of concrete beside him. The one that he currently had in his grasp, an item that he was all too happy to give his full attention given the Sister’s less than savoury mood, seemed to be unfamiliar to him.

Fred wasn’t one for what he called ‘women’s talk’, despite what his jovial nature might suggest. Far more content with tending to his allotment, tweaking his numerous projects and getting to grips with interesting shed-bound finds. Though he had long served as a willing listener, offering his broad shoulders as a makeshift tissue for the tears of his Nonnatus colleagues. 

He was strong and kind, and usually more than a match for whatever grumbles reared their heads through the day to day graft. But he never liked to push, not daring, not caring to force his way into a situation where he may not be welcome.

So there he waited.

Fingers stained with soil, patches of oil making dark shadows on otherwise cheery overalls.

He twisted the piece of equipment in his hands, making an investigative ‘hmm’ or ‘ahh’ every twenty seconds or so. Vaguely aware that Sister Frances was still hovering nearby, but not  
really wanting to press for information.

Experimentally, he tried spinning a cog. Then another, humming to himself as he did so. His peripheral vision indicating that his silent companion was watching his movements, as she swayed against the railings. 

A flicker of white as the light wind brushed against a crisp wimple. All very serene in the fresh morning air, all very peaceful.

Suddenly a spurt of oil flew out of his current point of focus, landing rather unceremoniously on the shoulder of Fred’s overalls. Abstract art on a canvas of past exploits, gardening endeavours and investigations. 

An occupational hazard of being a handyman with a green thumb.

Then something entirely unexpected, as he paused his scrubbing of the new splodge to raise his head - a look of incredulous questioning overtaking his features.

Shaking with giggles, the young girl to his left was biting back the obvious.

Sister Frances had recognised it instantly, it was quite clearly a spare car part. Dodgy looking, if the coat of rust was anything to go by. Long abandoned too, as it appeared to have been in store well before Fred’s time. And he’d been there for years, if she was remembering Trixie’s tales correctly. 

“Something funny?” asked Fred, pausing his vigorous scrubbing of the mark to take in the bemused look on the nun’s face.

“No Fred,” she spluttered, trying her hardest to maintain a modicum of respect.

A pointed look, as Fred waved an oily hand - inviting Sister Frances to come over to the makeshift work station by the flowerbed.

“Come on, take a pew,” he smirked. Apparently not too annoyed to crack a joke. “What’s got you laughing eh, the sight of me amusing you Sister?”

“No it’s just,” she paused to let the last of the giggles fade. Knelt down at the handyman’s side before offering an explanation. “You’re holding that completely wrong, and you really shouldn’t try twisting those. Not unless you want an oily shower at least. Why have you got it here anyway, surely it’d be of more use to Nurse Crane.” 

“How d’ya mean? What’s this got to do with Nurse Crane? And how do you reckon to know all this malarkey anyways?”

A shallow inhale of air, as she delved deep, digging out memories from what felt like a lifetime ago. What was a lifetime ago.

She launched into a lengthy explanation of what the object was, pointing at various engraved symbols and numbers. Cautiously pausing to indicate the functions of certain dials and cogs. Fred listened intently, hanging onto her every word. Forgetting for a moment that she was the same religious Sister that was supposed to be off on rounds or whatever she was meant to be doing on a Wednesday morning. 

That just a few minutes before she had been gasping for air between the daffs and the carrots. 

After several minutes of bouncing questions and answers back and forth, Sister Frances gradually trailed off. Glancing first at Fred, and then down at her surprisingly steady hands (folded neatly in her lap). She picked gently at the plaster on her index finger, only wincing slightly as she caught the part on her finger that the autoclave had burned the night before.

She raised her head almost guiltily, like she’d divulged an ugly truth rather than a rather useful piece of mechanical knowledge.

“Blimey, your old man teach you all of that did he?”

“Yes, before he -,” she cut herself off abruptly, shaking her head. “Before I um,” this time she just gestured limply to the habit and dangling crucifix.

“Fair enough. Never knew my dad that well, maybe that explains the knowledge gap when it comes to uh these thingymabobs.”

Recognising the aimless search for a word, Sister Frances supplied it quietly. 

-

For a few moments the silence was comfortable. Fred digesting all of this new information about his shed find, Frances relieved to have been able to discuss something other than her own failings for once.

The inner workings of a Morris Minor was a welcome topic after nothing but relentless insulin rounds, supervised house calls and instrument related criticisms. As much as she relished her work, and cared deeply for patients and colleagues alike, there was always a feeling that something was missing.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was her chance.

-

“Fred, you know if you ever needed or wanted a hand with this sort of thing. I might prove useful.”

“Oh you’re alright Sister, it’s dirty work this handyman lark. And I’m not sure that Sister Julienne would appreciate me stealing away one of her best nurses.”

The hyperbole hung stale in the air. One of them believed it more than the other.

“I just think it might be nice is all,” she stalled. “They’re tired of me getting things wrong in there,” she stated as she gestured over at the convent. “I know they are, so they’d probably be glad if I wasn’t in the way so much.”

“Right now that is a proper load of codswallop Sister.”

“Is it though Fred, really? There’s no point in sugar coating it.”

This time the older of the two didn’t press it. Instead he looked down at the car part in his lap, pondering Sister Frances’ question, the question which he suspected was shadowing a request. 

“What and you'd really be up for it?”

“I know that what you do is… hard. But I really think I could pick it up. Learn. At least let me try?”

Fred eyed the habit sceptically, almost suspiciously, as though this was some kind of trick question.

Vi’s words rang in his ears, _‘be respectful Fred Buckle! They’re religious sisters for pity’s sake!’_ Now that was much more useful advice than the tidbit about Women’s Realm.

“Please Fred, I really need to feel like I can be good at something. I’m so fed up with being useless at everything I’m supposed to have understood by now.”

He softened immediately at that, hearing the slight crack in the young girl’s voice. He’d seen more than enough melancholic frustration from her to last a lifetime, and didn’t much fancy being the reason behind another of those patented distant looks.

So he made his choice, the kind choice.

In a futile gesture, he wiped his hands on the knees of his dusty overalls.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Fred grinned, stretching a hand out. 

“Really?” she gasped, returning the grin. Eyes lighting up in an unfamiliar glee, as she met his hand in a firm but enthusiastic shake.

-  
-  
-

“Trix you know I love Phyllis really, right? I just can’t bear watching the way that she picks at Sister Frances’ every move. Every little thing, it’s maddening. And _you_ saw her before, on the verge of tears. That can’t be right.”

“With you on this one Valerie, though if you could get your point across a little more _politely_ next time, that’d be wonderful.”

A sheepish nod, if a little reluctant.

Opening the convent door, both women gripped their cloaks a little more tightly, bracing themselves against the iced wind.

“Do you think she’s alright? Sister Frances I mean,” braved Valerie.

”Not too shabby from the looks of it,” replied Trixie. Nodding discreetly over to the allotment as they moved to collect their bicycles.

Fred and Sister Frances were engaged in what appeared to be a vibrant discussion, with the young nun looking more animated than either of her colleagues had seen in some time. Fred let out a roaring laugh at some comment or other, while Frances smiled that hopeful smile. That smile that drew out a similar grin in whomever it was directed at.

A soft sort of pure happiness that one couldn’t help but embrace.

Mirroring curved lips and bright eyes.

Venturing closer to the enclosed garden space, the two midwives spied a number of knick-knacks spread around the pair, mimicking a teddy bear’s picnic. Tools aplenty, strewn on the concrete - as Sister Frances plucked out an assortment one by one. Experimentally swinging a battered hammer in the air, and joining Fred in a hearty chuckle when she let out a sigh of contentment.

“Alright chick!”

“Alright sweetie!”

The two midwives called out in unison, hearts irrevocably warmed by the grin that they received in response. 

“Fred says he’s going to teach me how to build things Val! Properly build stuff-”

“Nonnatus House’s first handywoman, if you will,” interjected Fred.

-

The four of them exchanged similar pleasantries, before parting ways. 

Valerie nodded slightly at Fred before mounting her bike, a nod that said ‘take care of her’, without really saying anything at all. 

Fred returned the nod, tipping his cap before shooing the midwives away. 

Two bicycles pedalled off, bumping rhythmically over the cobblestones. 

While two figures remained crouched amongst the seedlings, safe and sound between the flowerbeds and piles of curious tools. 

Peace restored.


	2. be brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! hopefully this update finds you well, i'm having a pretty good time writing it :)

She was clad in her habit. As was usual for a Thursday, though there were some aspects of her attire that were distinctly different to the norm. 

Thick gardening gloves covered her hands, clenched tightly in a fist as she rocked back and forth on her heels. 

Waiting, hoping. Daring to pre-emptively celebrate. 

There was also an apron draped around her front, very different to the white sterile one that was mandatory uniform at the clinic. 

Here, there was the chance to make mistakes. Mistakes that were your own, that would build a story of snags and patches and creases. 

There was something beautiful about it, though it was rough and strewn with scuffs. It was messy and complicated and built on trials and triumphs. 

A bit like her really, and she liked that. 

Already this apron was faded and edged with brown, just a few shades lighter than a perfect brew. Scruffy and indicative of an active prior owner, one who relished the rough and tumble way of living. 

Sister Frances admired that, envied it. 

She breathed a heavy sigh of anticipation, temporarily distracted by the way that her exhale produced a misty cloud in front of her. 

If living in Poplar had reinforced anything, it was punctuality. And punctual she was, as she glanced again at her watch, awaiting Fred’s arrival. The allotment their meeting place of choice for today’s work.

_‘Fred's doing me a favour, the least I can do is show up on time’_

Words and promises were muttered in the mirror most mornings, for varying reasons. Today’s weren't marked with fear or anxiety, rather they spoke of eagerness. Anticipation of the best kind. 

-  
-  
-

Sister Julienne had been really good to her, truly she had. Recognising long repressed youthful desires, and acknowledging them in that uniquely serene, omniscient way. 

Eagerness had dulled slightly, when Fred had gently reminded her that getting permission from Sister Julienne was probably a good idea. 

Dealing with confrontation had never been a strength that she possessed. Particularly when it was an authority figure, one that she would sincerely hate to disappoint. 

Being a religious Sister, she wasn't _supposed_ to ask for favours. No, she was meant to bow her head and comply. Doing what her superiors asked, the Lord dictated her every move. 

But this wasn't _too_ extravagant an ask. 

And a positive outcome would bring so much happiness. 

Therefore, needs must. 

Use your words Frances. 

-

Frances had swallowed anxious risings, knowing that if she let her grip on those insecurities weaken, then there would be an irrevocable mark against her character.

Cool, calm, collected.

That was how one acted when asking for a favour, a lesson that she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. 

She had raised a fist to the door, having pre-emptively wiped sweaty palms on the underside of her scapular. Knuckles tight, nails sharp against soft skin. 

The contact that she managed to make was so scarce, that she doubted that it was even audible if you weren’t the perpetrator. Fingers just barely brushing against dense oak, before recoiling in hesitation.

Smooth wood was sandpaper. 

She groaned inwardly, fist still awkwardly poised in mid-air.

“Just knock, Frances, _just_ knock. Sister Julienne doesn’t bite, she couldn’t. It’s against the rules. No wait, what rules? There are no rules, oh Lord. No, even so, Mother Mildred wouldn’t allow it. Right? Right. Oh now that’s a fine tangent you’ve worked yourself up into, nice going.” 

She shook herself, as though the nerves were some kind of insect clinging to faded fabric. Like they could be shaken off with a bit of willpower, or what Fred called ‘oomph’.

“It’s now or never, _you_ can do it. Really, she won’t be mad. Probably.”

And with that, knuckles made contact with wood once more. This time the sound had echoed through the convent. Almost too loud. Bouncing off of every surface with the force of a church bell.

Was _she_ ringing them? Or were _they_ ringing her?

A gentle summons tore her away from existential questioning. 

“Enter.”

No going back now, not that she wanted to anyway. Still, a little caution never hurt anyone. Moderation, that was the name of the game.

So following Sister Julienne’s imperative invitation, she creaked the door open. Too preoccupied with composing her words to wince at the sound.

-  
-  
-

_“If you can make time for it alongside your current duties, then I really don't see why not. I presume that Mr Buckle has already given his agreement?” she'd probed with a small smile._

_A tentative nod._

_“Fred reckons that my ‘car part expertise’,” she ventured with air quotes. “Could be useful, and I think learning some of his extensive garden know-how could be really good.”_

_Her nervous gaze flickered from point to point around Sister Julienne’s office, never quite settling. Arms hanging at her sides in an attempt at a casual stance, with her thumbs repeatedly tracing patterns on the palm side of her fingertips._

_A bad habit (no pun intended) but a habit nonetheless._

_She wouldn’t let nerves overtake her, not today._

_Feeling the older woman’s eyes boring into the blessedly thick fabric of her wimple, she dragged her eyes from the antique flower vase on the cabinet - meeting Sister Julienne’s gaze in a weak sign of acceptance to further questioning._

_“And you don't mind missing out on furthering your nursing and midwifery skills?”_

_A wave of guilt dampened the plan._

_Compose yourself._

_“I think, I think it'd be okay. I mean I’m still learning, not even close to experienced, and maybe me taking a back seat will be easier on the other's too?”_

_Frances blurted out the words, just biting back the ‘because I keep making mistakes and I know it's winding you all up’._

_She had posed it as a question, but Sister Julienne recognised it as a plea. A hope for some kind of get out clause._

_Sister Julienne realised it went deeper, having watched this restlessness grow for some time, but decided that now was neither the time nor the place to press the issue._

_“Then I’m happy to spare you for a couple of mornings a week, at Mr Buckle’s discretion.”_

_“Thank you so much Sister,” enthused Sister Frances. “I promise I won’t let you down.”_

_“My dear,” called Sister Julienne, just as the younger girl was opening the office door to leave. “You could never let us down, I trust that you’ll remember that.”_

_Frances had felt her cheeks flush a doubtful pink, as she nodded slightly before ducking out through the doorway. A blur of navy and nothing more, craving the feeling of relief that was exclusive to hiding behind heavy panels of oak, not quite solitude, but a nice barricade all the same._

-  
-  
-

She had closed the door quietly, before breaking out into a less than dignified celebration in the corridor. The draft had calmed her blush, and held her close as she’d punched the air with plenty of vigour. 

It was really, genuinely going to happen.

Nobody was fighting her on this. Sister Julienne had said yes.

You didn’t usually get a lot of privacy at Nonnatus House, so the opportunity to relish in personal successes was fleeting. 

Arms flailing in pure unadulterated glee. Toes pointing this way and that, elegance be damned because she was honest to God happy. 

And grateful. Always grateful. 

For a few moments she had let go, mimicking the dance moves that Nurse Franklin was always so keen to talk about. Even Sister Hilda was a fan of the jive, often letting that fact slip in unadvisable company.

That, Sister Frances had long admired. Openly admitting to the things that your soul longed for. Though, she supposed, a sequined dress or an event at which to dance were quite accomplishable things. 

Realistic. Nobody would begrudge Sister Hilda _that_ simple yearning, not when she so readily expressed it. So freely.

Now Sister Frances was getting her own taste of what it felt like to achieve such freedom, the shackles of the religious life rattling defiantly. 

And all it had taken was a deep breath, a little cry and a spell in Fred’s allotment. 

-

After some bargaining with Nurse Crane, encouraged by her other colleagues and with her message reinforced by Sister Julienne, they'd reached a steady compromise.

Promises of patient lists being properly balanced and of covered shifts.

Two mornings a week she had permission to skip clinic in favour of helping and learning from Fred. A week ago this would’ve been nothing but a nonsense, the stuff of daydreams. The place that she disappeared to when the idea of facing reality was just that little bit too vicious. 

But now, now it was real. Blissfully, beautifully real.

As long as she arrived at the Iris Knight Institute at two on the dot for her afternoon duties. Then Sister Frances was free to garden. To build. To try her hand at something that she truly believed she could be halfway decent at. 

(Phyllis had softened almost unrecognisably when the younger woman had first proposed the idea. Watching how hands fumbled and words tumbled out in no kind of proper fashion. Dispensing a maternal look, and proclaiming that now she’d have someone to practice some more ‘out of the box Spanish vocab’ with. A victory for her too, supposed Frances.)

She was still very much a part of the Nonnatus machine, but now she was fixing any unruly cogs herself. 

All kitted out and raring to go. 

The elder Sisters had dug out some protective gear. Bestowing it with no sense of ceremony, but with every sense of sincerity. 

Whispers of ‘good luck’ and assurances about her potential success, they surrounded her. 

A blanket of kindness and faith enveloped her. 

Letting her breathe easily, letting her trust herself. 

Letting her try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!


End file.
